Inspiration was always easy to find, sprinkling itself across the surface of the strangest places and people.
Then craft was born, largely because of a few professors who took me and my writing under their writer wings.
With grad school came deadlines which disguised themselves as the developing of a writer's work ethic.
And then I graduated and somehow became so obsessed with what I deemed to be perfection in my own craft that I had lost the ability to actually sit down and allow myself to make things with words.
Mark Doty reminded me last night that inspiration arrives first. Then comes the push. As writers we must learn how to marry what is given as inspiration with the will to see what we can make of it.
I practice this marriage as a runner. Honestly, without the push, the inspiration is useless. If I didn't push myself to run, I wouldn't even be a runner.
Now I must do the same with writing.